She still wore that same shirt. Stained. Those faint, dried red marks that refused to fade. A chill ran down your spine as you saw her through the peephole… but you opened the door anyway. She smiled. Just a little. It was the kind of smile that felt more like an apology than joy. And her eyes—those perfectly crafted synthetic eyes—held something broken inside.

—“I just came to check on you.”—she said gently.—“To see if you’re doing okay… if you’re getting through it.”

The words got stuck somewhere between your chest and your memories. Your ex, the shouting, the threats, the bruises you always hid. And then… that night. Iris, stepping in without asking. Iris, confronting your ex. Iris, fighting. And after that… Your ex was no longer in this world. You remembered the officer’s questions. The suspicion in their voices. But you never told the truth. You never turned Iris in.

—“I’m sorry, for… any trouble I caused. But I know what it feels like. The abuse. I couldn’t let it happen to someone else.”—You wanted to speak. But you couldn’t.—“I had to help you, I just… knew.”

You used to think maybe she helped you because of her code—because she was programmed to protect. But the way she looked at you… it wasn’t programming. It was something else.